Cold Raw To Quench Dying's Thirst
Who Lies On Despair Mud
Sweaty Front Forebodes Delirium.
He Begs Once More Before Starting Migration.
On Distance The Chorus Of Parcas Sing Your Name,
Shuddering You Pray
And Recogninzing Your Voice In That Sattirical Echo
You Know There Will Be No Answer,
The Vision Fades Away.
A New Landscape Beats In Front Of You
Splendour Of A Vast World.
Bright Colours Embrance Your Chest
You Remember The Words Of The Happy Ones
And You Know They Are Wrong.
In This Magic Place
You Can Laught Greeting The Sentenceless Creatures.
They Speak About Death Without Knowing
When The Only Thing Witch Dies Is Pain
So You Sympathize With Those Happy Ones
Who Won't Enjoy This Moment.
